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Join me in figuring out "what now?"

14 Weeks Ago Today

on 6 July, 2018

Its really starting to happen. Whether or not I want to. Regardless of whether I like it. No opinion on when it gets done, but it has started.

What, you ask? This life, without my son. Trying to dig and claw past every memory and hurt and loneliness and pain that has been every waking moment for the past 14 weeks today.

I feel like a walking shell of where once a person existed. I’ve always been pretty sure of who I was and where I was going, but this, wow… yeah, this has really knocked me off track.

And yes, I know there was a person pre-mom, but she’s changed into Streeter’s mom. And now that she is gone, I don’t know who I am anymore.

Or if I even care.

I chatted recently with some folks online about regrets. I looked around my high school stomping grounds and decided that life wasn’t going to be handed to me, but that I would have to fight for what I wanted. And fight hard. And not always fairly. But what I found was that I was a pretty happy person. And I knew it. I knew what I wanted and I went out and got it.

Only someone forgot to mention that being this cocky is like spitting into the wind. And it all came back on me.

I was already – if you really want to be honest about it – wondering what life had in store for me. I mean, the entire purpose of this blog, originally, was about where life might take me. Of course, I expected more of the same, mostly-successful, pretty happy and confident that things wouldn’t necessarily be smooth sailing, but that things were in line for the most part.

Ha. Now this blog is about how I convince myself that I still need at least one more morning to wake up. One more loose end to tie up. But that life has pretty much been lived. And the future really doesn’t hold much for the out-of-shape, overweight woman with bad knees who teeters on the edge of heart disease/diabetes/stroke.

I almost recall the moment that each of my parents became “old”. That when you spoke to them it became this litany of physical ailments rather than news of what they were doing. And I found myself doing the same thing a lot lately.


I had an opportunity last year when the kid and I went to Arches National Park, there was a trail that was 6 miles. But it was rated as “moderate” on the hike scale, which meant some climbing up and back down. Not so good on the knees. But Streeter wanted to go, so I made him a deal… I would drive the car up to the end and then hike towards him.

When we met up, I had managed a good section of the trail… somewhere just short of two miles, we guessed. To which, while we were hydrating, he made this comment, like, “You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for…” or words to that affect.

And now, looking back, I wished I had pushed myself harder on that trip and specifically on that trail. It could have been a thing that we recalled as us doing together rather than him doing it alone.

He spent way too much time alone. I think. I am still trying to understand how a healthy and relatively happy young man would feel the need to take his life. And how I have to feel like it is my fault. I was his mother and I was supposed to protect him. And I failed.

I really feel like I failed him. And in turn, failed myself.

Streeter's Mom Final


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